“He got it just as he pulled trigger; a dozen bullets came over his way, but he got his man with one bullet; did you see that? He’s one dandy shot! Best I ever did see, or ever expect to.” So enthused the corporal.
“I’d like to take him once after deer in Sullivan County,” Jennings remarked. “There goes anothor messenger; I reckon mebbe I kin get him.” And rising to his full height the big mountaineer let fly three shots in rapid succession, the last of which tumbled the second dispatch bearer into a silent heap. Whereupon Jennings got down again, untouched, though the bullets had been singing all about him.
“Sho! My turn next!” declared Gill, between whom and Jennings there was always a good-natured rivalry. “If I don’t get my man with the first shot and tie with the lieutenant, you can take me out and give me to the Jerries for a barbecue.”
“Better do that, anyway, so’s to kill ’em. Ain’t nobody kin eat polecat an’ live through it,” Jennings countered.
But Gill didn’t get his shot. The squad did not see the next messenger leave; he must have got away through the thickets in a roundabout way.
With the added rocks that had been piled up to strengthen their position the men could stoop low on their feet, or kneel erect. The machine gun was placed at a hole and above it McNabb and Wilson, the lively crew, had managed deftly to place a wide, flat stone as a shield beneath which they could sight very well, indeed. This rendered the chance of getting hit a comparatively slight one, but who can tell what direction the flight of bullets will take? The Huns were keeping up a constant fire, uselessly wasting ammunition on stones impervious to anything but heavy cannon and except the glancing blow that the lieutenant had received and a flesh wound in Judson’s right cheek, not one of the Americans had been hurt.
But it appeared as though the Huns were getting ready for another charge and so McNabb was going over the mechanism of the Browning gun again when a bullet, among a dozen or more sent over in the past half minute, entered the space between the flat stone and the gun barrel and the cheery, brave little Irishman sank down, without a groan. Wilson leaped to his place and sent a volley into the very spot from where the shots had come and several Huns were seen to drop, but it could never be known whether the death of McNabb was avenged.
Meanwhile Don was working over Herbert and soon had the satisfaction of hearing that lad’s voice: “Huh! Got hit, eh? Not as bad as gas; head aches, though, some. We are still alive; are we? Don’t pay to show so much as a finger; does it?”
Then they told him about Jennings’ risk and what had happened to the machine gunner and Herbert came to his senses in a jiffy. But his were not the only tear-dimmed eyes that gazed upon the body of the sturdy little scrapper.
“We can only lay him aside there, boys, now. Make his temporary bier pretty and fragrant, anyhow, with some spruce boughs, just as though he were asleep and had laid down to rest. Now, watch out, fellows; we need every man to hold off those weasels. I wonder what they will do next?”